


shelter

by lalaland666 (orphan_account)



Series: whumptober 2020 [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Strong Aziraphale (Good Omens), The Blitz, Whumptober 2020, but not like emotionally, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:13:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26823451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lalaland666
Summary: Aziraphale knew he couldn't hold this miracle for very much longer.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: whumptober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950676
Comments: 18
Kudos: 140
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	shelter

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "Collapsed building". It _is_ a pre-canon fic, and so the ending is tempered by that fact, but it is happy overall, I promise.

Aziraphale knew he couldn’t hold this miracle for very much longer. 

He shuddered under the weight of the station above him, his hands pressed against the slowly-crumbling wall in a desperate attempt to keep himself steady. Overhead, the ceiling of the tube station was held together solely through the force of Aziraphale's will, and the cracks in it were spreading, the stone falling further apart with each impact on the surface. 

Aziraphale groaned, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut, forcing the miracle to hold. His muscles were cramping from the strain, there was sweat dripping into his eyes and the hot tang of blood in his mouth and there were children crying and panicked voices and small pieces of tile and stone were beginning to fall through the cracks in Aziraphale's miracle and he couldn't let go, he couldn't, not yet, it was nearly dawn, nearly safe, but until then he couldn't, he couldn't, he– 

"Angel, what the hell are you still _doing_ here?" 

Aziraphale's eyes flew open, and he gasped sharply. The miracle overhead wavered, and another shower of debris fell through, the clatter of it drowned out by the screams. Crowley was standing in front of him, missing his hat and glasses, his jacket askew and his face panicked. 

"The... the humans," Aziraphale forced out, squeezing his eyes shut once more. "Can't... let them... die here." 

Crowley growled loudly. "You bloody– alright. Fine. I'll get them out. All-clear's coming in less than a minute, they'll be okay. Don't you _dare_ discorporate on me, angel." 

"Do my… best," Aziraphale said, redoubling his effort. His entire body ached with the strain, with the weight of the station and all the buildings above, and at this point it was less a miracle and more Aziraphale's own essence spreading across the station, holding it up, bracing it as best he could, and there was more debris falling and people were still shouting and babies were still crying and they were getting farther and farther away and Aziraphale pressed harder, he couldn't let them be hurt, couldn't let them die here, trapped and afraid and crushed beneath the earth, and– 

A hand landed on Aziraphale's shoulder, gripping him tightly, and Aziraphale gasped again, shaking his head furiously. "Go. Go. I'll– go. Just get out, it's your… your only chance." 

"They're all gone, angel, it's okay." It was Crowley, Crowley's voice, Crowley's hand, and Aziraphale shuddered. His control was slipping. Larger pieces of stone were beginning to fall, crashing down with wretched, echoing bangs, and Aziraphale was trembling, he was about to collapse, he couldn't do it, he couldn't, he _couldn't_. 

"I've got you," Crowley said, and then he was pulling Aziraphale close, wrapping his arms around the angel's cramping shoulders, whispering in his ear through the sounds of everything around them falling apart. "You did it, angel. You stubborn bastard. You did it. You can let go now." 

"Crowley," Aziraphale choked out, his hands clenching in Crowley's dust-covered jacket, the station around him tearing through the tattered remnants of his miracle, of his essence, the sounds growing distant and echoey and almost dreamlike. 

"You're okay," Crowley said. "I've got you, angel. You can let go." 

Aziraphale whimpered, his legs going out beneath him, the fragile strings that had held him upright for hours now all cut at once, but Crowley was there, Crowley caught him, Crowley held him up, clutched him close. Aziraphale forced his eyes open again, and Crowley's stared back down at him, glowing yellow shining through the dark spots dancing in Aziraphale's vision, the blackness encroaching along the edges and spreading slowly inwards. 

He opened his mouth to say something, to thank Crowley, to tell him to run, but before he could, there was a snap, a shift, the faint smell of sulphur, and those eyes grew closer, Crowley was saying something, his voice just as distant as the crashing had been. Aziraphale let out quiet breath, the pain pounding through him fading too, those beloved eyes receding farther and farther away, and then everything went dark. 

### 

Aziraphale woke up to a throbbing pain inside his skull and a deep ache reaching down into his very bones. He groaned softly, squeezing his eyes shut, and then started to sit up. He wasn't sure how he'd managed this, but– 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, no." There were hands on his arms, his shoulders, easing him back down into– he'd been laying in a bed, something he almost never did, and the hands holding onto him– 

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, opening his eyes and regretting it immediately. Even with the curtains closed, the dim light of the bedroom in the flat that had come with the bookshop was enough to make his headache twice as bad, stabbing through him, but he had to see– 

It was. It was Crowley, hovering over him, lying him back down and fussing with the blankets atop him. He wasn't covered in dust any longer, and between when he'd, presumably, teleported them to safety and now, he'd also gotten rid of his jacket and rolled his shirtsleeves up. 

"You're not getting out of bed for at least a week," Crowley said, not meeting Aziraphale's eyes, his voice gentler than it had any right to be. "You just spent three hours holding up nearly four hundred thousand tonnes of stone and brick, angel. You need to rest." 

"Crowley," Aziraphale said again. 

"M'sorry it took me so long to get there," Crowley said, still talking more to the blankets than to Aziraphale. "Dagon pulled me Downstairs to talk about _paperwork_ , of all bloody things, and by the time I managed to get away from her you were already worn out enough that I couldn't find you at first, and then–" 

"My dear, stop," Aziraphale interrupted, catching Crowley's wrist. "Please, don't be sorry. I can't ask you to drop everything and come rescue me every time I land in a spot of trouble." 

"Yes, you can," Crowley said, finally looking up. His eyes were wide and absolutely certain, the yellow of his irises bleeding out just a little bit into the sclera as they tended to do when he was stressed. 

Aziraphale let out a soft breath. "My dear…" 

"I'm gonna go make you some lunch," Crowley said, turning to pick up some of the extra pillows that were scattered across the floor. "You need to eat something, and probably have some water, too, that's important, right? And then you should get some more sleep. I healed everything on your corporation for you, but your essence is still weak as anything." 

Sighing slightly, Aziraphale let the moment pass. "You don't have to sit around here playing nursemaid, Crowley. I'm sure you have better things to do." 

"I'm not playing nursemaid," Crowley said, a small smile flitting across his face. "I'm harassing an injured and weakened angel. S'very demonic." 

"Is it, now? I'm afraid I'm not feeling terribly harassed." 

"Just you wait. I'll use up all your food rations for my nefarious designs, and then bring all sorts of black market goods into your home. Play loud music at all hours of the day. Keep you trapped inside here, so you can't spread all your angelic goodwill or whatever all over London for a few days, at least." 

_Oh, Lord, I love him so very much,_ Aziraphale thought faintly, his own smile spreading across his face. "Ah. I suppose I ought to thwart you, then. Keep you in the shop with me so that your mischief doesn't go unchecked." 

Crowley grinned back at him. "Suppose you should. What a wretched fate for the both of us." 

Aziraphale laughed, then winced, as the motion sent another spike of pain through his head and down his spine. 

"Food can wait," Crowley said, grimacing slightly before narrowing his eyes, seeming to look through Aziraphale's corporeal body at something else beyond it. "You need to sleep some more, angel. You're still barely there." He straightened up, then, and turned to go. 

Aziraphale couldn't quite stop the needy little whine that rose in his throat from escaping. 

Crowley froze, looking back over his shoulder. "Angel?" 

Aziraphale chewed on his lip, then whispered, "Crowley, could you… might you…?" 

He couldn't ask for it. It was too dangerous by far. An angel shouldn't need a demon to rescue him, to stay with him, to hold him as he fell asleep. He shouldn't want it so very desperately, shouldn't want _Crowley_ so very desperately, with a need that made his chest ache and his heart race if he thought on it for too long. He couldn't ask Crowley to do this, not after everything the demon had already done for him, everything he'd risked to even be here in the first place. 

Crowley watched Aziraphale for a long moment, his eyes darting over the angel's face, before he crossed back over to the bed and pulled the covers back, his shirt and trousers melting into pyjamas as he moved. "Budge over, will you? It's cold as hell out here– trust me, I would know– so my harassment has escalated to leeching off your body heat. Scootch." 

Aziraphale laughed again, wriggling sideways slightly as Crowley clambered into the bed beside him and then tugged him close, his arms snaking around Aziraphale's middle, pulling the angel down so that he was lying on his stomach against Crowley's chest. The ache in every inch of Aziraphale's body seemed to almost recede somewhat with the contact, and he sighed, letting his eyes drift closed. 

"Thank you," he murmured, just quiet enough that Crowley could pretend not to have heard him, just loud enough that Aziraphale knew he had. 

Crowley hummed softly, one hand skimming gently up and down Aziraphale's back. "Go to sleep, angel. I'll be here when you get up." 

It was that reassurance, that _promise_ , more than anything else, that let Aziraphale relax at last, letting the dark oblivion of sleep carry him away once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Subscribe to the series for more whump!


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